Mythos
by Lycanthropian
Summary: What if old wives tales, legends and myths were true? What if they existed right beneath our noses today? Ongoing novel about a organization dedicated to keeping such things as no more than bed time stories. M for violence, later possible lemons.


Chapter 1: Control

Chapter 1: Containment

It was one of those old, ratty apartment complexes, like out of Gotham city or some other comic book city.

Long run down and abandoned, and probably due for demolition sometime in the next millennium. If they got around to it. Outside it was drizzling in the early hours of the morning, looking more like mist than rain. Looking up at the 4th floor window, in a ratty trench coat with a limp fedora on his head, stood a silent figure. A stub of a cigarette was burning itself out in the side of his mouth over the scruff on his face. He spat it out and stubbed it out.

That ruggedly charming character would be me, John Martin Reeves.

Cheesy appearance, I know. Something like a poor man's P.I. out of a film noir. Meh, it doesn't require much effort, and I'd rather be comfortable than flashy. You tend to go unnoticed a lot more too.

So what was an odd guy like me doing in such a part of the city with a lot of...personality?

My job.

What's that, you ask?

Oh, not much.

Monster hunting. Observe, contain, and cleanup.

And I can hear the mental breaks screech in your head. Wait, what?

So I'll backup and give you a little info, since you're new.

* * *

Long ago, waaaaaay back when the Earth was young, life happened. Around 3.7 billion years ago.

Oh, that's not the 2.2 billion or so your textbooks say, oxygen and all that you say?

Well I'm telling you different, so just listen up.

Life started around then, nothing special, fairly simple actually, first proteins, then bacterium and viri, and so on an' so forth. The important thing to remember here, is that life started as these, simple, basic things. Evolution doesn't just happen to creatures we can see in the fossil record; they evolved right along, some good some bad. Doc Mercer could probably give you all the lovely details, how there's actually three main branches in evolutionary history, several human subspecies, yada-yada-yada. If you're really so keen on the gritty details go ask her.

Important bits are this: humans ain't the only big fish out there. See, those little bugs I mentioned from where life started? They consist of one of those branches you'll hear Mercer rant about like it's the next big thing or sommat. The live in two forms, as the little buggers you see in microscopes, and any various forms of this, goop, amoeba like little critters, and the other as infected humans. Ah, lessee, best reference you might get from watching the movies is 'zombies'. They're not really dead, just brainwashed is best to describe it, and aim to spread itself as much as possible.

So that's what I'm doing out in front of an abandoned building at 3 a.m., soaking and not the least bit happy. I've got some house cleaning I got assigned.

Assigned?

Oh yea, I don't freelance. I work for the Agency. Oooh, mysterious. Not really, we've just been around longer than human civilization. Don't ask, I'll tell you later, yea I know that wasn't who hired you, call it a shell company. But yea, it's what we call ourselves, nothing fancy. Outside of the people who work for it, no one knows we exist. Probably because the few higher ups have their fingers in just about everybody's pie. The one's that count anyway, like senators and governments. But yea, our job as it were, is basically keep stuff like this in check and out of public knowledge. Harder to do these days, with technology and what, but we've had lots of time to practice. We made a few slip ups now and then when we first started.

Hence, demons, zombies, vampires, all those old wives tales.

So yea. That's why I'm stuck here. Cleanup.

But why me, you ask.

Oh simple. Cause I'm one of the few 'people' that can go toe to toe.

Why? Easy.

I'm a werewolf.

* * *

Dan looked uneasily at me, and half stepped back.

Oh yea, Dan, the new guy. New hire, he was supposed to be my backup on this. Which meant he had the radio and the shotgun and stayed the hell outside. It also meant he had to tag along with me and learn the ropes before, like all the others, he gave up on it and either got a desk job at the Agency, worked in the lab, or joined the scouts. In this case, he was there in case things got outside. I didn't think he'd last long either way. He didn't look like he knew what he was doing at any rate, and looked like he belonged in college teaching from the

way he was dressed, to his round spectacles and hair neatly parted to the side.

I smiled a bit without looking at him.

"Don't worry kid, I ain't gonna eat you, and I'm all warm and fuzzy. Really."

He looked at me, disbelief written across his face. "Umm, no offense, but that's, well, ah..."

"A little what?" I asked, turning towards him.

He seemed to loose a little nerve, but blustered on. "Well, a bit incredulous, along with all this other Agency crap. And this zombie stuff? I mean, come on. I'm not some idiot, I graduated MIT, Harvard Medical and I-"

I cut him off.

"What were you hired for?" I asked.

He was taken a little aback. "I thought it was for my studies and expertise in virology, forensic applications, an-"

"Yes, viruses, science, you're a smart guy, I get it." He looked the part at least, like some accountant or a geek who got a hard-on everytime he saw a microscope. "Well you're qualified, otherwise the higher ups wouldn't have taken a sniff at you. Look at it this way, believe it or not, call this field work and a probationary period. All you have to do is sit here with the radio and the gun," I pointed at the weapon he was holding as if it would bite him. "And all you have to do, is if something goes wrong, say 'Help, John fucked up' and shoot anything that comes out."

"B-But I've never fired a BB gun before, let alone this, this,…hell this whole thing doesn't even seem legitimate, this seems more mafia or some other crap that…" he kept ranting.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. Geeze, they really knew how to pick him. If it wasn't such a last minute deal, I wouldn't have bothered with Minerva's...request. "Here's the deal. Line up the red dot, and squeeze the trigger. If you see Mr. Blue Uniform come around, you get in the car and let him pass. Got it?"

He looked like he wanted to say something, but swallowed it and nodded.

"Good. And as for if you believe in the zombie deal, well," I grinned, lowering my tinted glasses and tipping my hat, showing very pointy teeth and ears, and golden irises. "That's for you to decide." He paled and took another step back. "Now I'm going in, and consider my evaluation how well you do your job."

I pushed my hat firmly on my head, slipped on my gloves, patted the lump in my coat and crossed the street. I pulled off the caution tape across the door, ignoring the notice indicating the building was condemned, and slowly opened the door.

* * *

So now, perhaps you are a little curious. What exactly does my job entail? Assuming you get past the whole werewolf thing. Trust me, that's another story.

My official title is 'Nightwatch'. Catchy, huh? Yea, that never did work well with the ladies. Anyway, I'm essentially a watcher. Daytime, I do what I want, or investigate a little, or push a bit of paper around I'm supposed to do in the Agency. Night cometh, I hit the underground and night life. Not as glamorous as it seems, most of it is sniffing out stuff like what I've got going on tonight, and keeping a weather eye out.

For what?

Well for starters, you might need a little more background on what the Agency is and does.

The Agency was established...well, a long time ago. I was around before it, but I joined later. That's another story for later.

Basically the long and short of it is this: all those little wives tales, myths, legends and all that you hear about, well, most of it is true. Or at least some truth lies in the tales. So yea, vampires, zombies, the boogieman, that monster under your bed, it's there. Werewolves. Heh.

So that's where me and the Agency come in. We keep making people think they're the stuff of nightmares and legends. And occasionally when someone slips up, it either gets covered as a crime, and witnesses are either absorbed or occasionally...taken care of when they're too thick to see the money or the light. Some simply want to have the greatest discovery of all time or summat. Personally I wouldn't care; it would make my life much easier, but even the best case scenario for that is world panic. And knowing how humans tick, especially trigger happy but stupid ones, they'd shoot first, second, third, then ask questions. Not that bullets bother me.

But it's not the monster types that worry us so much as the virus. Yea, they're that one main branch Doc rants about. Not like your regular cold virus or what ever. For lack of better words, it's smart. Evolved away from the others at some point. That's our biggest fear now. Oh sure, it was easy to deal with when the human population was under 3 billion or so, but now that's breaking 7. Doomsday scenario anyone?

So here's where I come in. Big Bad Wolf. Can't get infected, or be carrier, and all that. Doc loves telling how I evolved as a specialized hybrid, etc, etc, it gets old after a few decades. And I really don't die, wounds heal, I don't age, all that. Not as fun as it seems, believe me. Once you've lived over a few hundred years, you've seen, done, and eaten it all. Garbage too.

One thing about the whole werewolf thing that's partly true about the myths is silver. Doesn't kill (as far as I know), but it hurts. Bad. Like acid through your veins. We have some sort of allergic reaction, and our systems go absolute haywire. I remember I got shot full of it in, oh, the 1400's or so to make me comatose from it. I'm probably to blame for perpetrating that myth of silver bullets killing werewolves, it was somewhere in what's now Germany I think. Good times.

Anyway, so my job as the punching bag that jumps back is to sedate a 'zombie' or whatever the like comes along, bag it, and take it back alive if possible for further study. Which is why I'm creeping along this hallway right now, in the worst part of the city.

To a normal person I'm sure it would have been pitch black inside, but it was more like late evening to me.

I hung my hat and coat on a dilapidated hangar near the door, and listened. Enhanced senses rock. I heard rapid breathing and creaking a few floors up, and outside I thought I had seen movement flitting through the boarded up windows.

Good news-bad news situation. Good news, I was at the right place. Bad news, a "Zerker" was most likely what I had upstairs. Short for "Berserker", it's what we called the faster, tougher zombies.

* * *

Short tidbit of info here. The regular zombies we call Drunks, because that's what they act like, and the pretty much are. The virus gets the brain to flood itself with endorphins, making the person a drooling idiot while it takes over. This happens during the incubation period of no more than a day. After that, the virus keeps the host's conscious mind in a self-induced coma, while taking over the strings of the now-puppet. The control is awkward at best though, hence the 'Drunk'.

Occasionally though, you get a super strain mutation of the virus, or a long-time zombie (the latter is rare). Then you get a 'Zerker. The virus for all intensive purposes has the same finesse the person did prior to infection. However, the virus amps up the body, driving adrenaline and hormones into overdrive, physically improving the body in some ways. They are faster, stronger, and quicker than even the best human athlete, feel minimal pain, and are generally are a pain in the ass. Their whole system's are sped up, breathing, heart rate, metabolism, etc. Basically controlled berserkers. These are, for the majority of those in the employ of the Agency, the most difficult to kill, let alone catch alive. That's where they send those like me in.

However, two things, work in our favor. For whatever reason, they have extreme aversion to light. The best we can come up with is that it can't focus the eyes to contract, and is extremely painful, like a electrical overload on the brain. The other is that the virus naturally wants to find a dark place to continue multiplying, so they hole up in the day, and come out only during the darkest parts of night.

The other advantage is the metabolism. Get them 'tranqed, they're out in 30 seconds flat. Which is why as I'm creeping up the stairs, I'm checking the dart gun I'm assigned. Pain in the ass to check out too. You'd figure that a system that's been up for a few thousand years would have a better streamlined system to paperwork, but it's the opposite. Red tape for miles.

Regardless, my job is to knock em out, and get em to the van for transport, and I'm pretty sure it's a 'Zerker. I hear breathing at a million miles an hour, and a what sounds like rapid scuffling. Great. It's got lots of nervous energy; probably thinking about prowling out, and my guess is that it's starting to smell the humans nearby. Probably the new guy too; I can still smell his nervousness all the way up here.

I pad softly over to the wrecked doorway, covering my face with a kerchief, but the foul smell still filters through. Zombie 1, Super Smell 0. I freeze as the breathing stops for a few seconds, listening, but it starts back up and I slowly peer around the doorway. There it was. Yea, 'Zerker. 'Zerkers have a markedly different physique than a regular human, like if you slapped muscles on a skeleton.

It was shuffling around the barred window, peering out between the cracks. Almost as if it saw som-...Mr. PhD. Shit, no time. It wanted to go after the new guy. I lifted the gun and fired, square at it's back.

Something though, a glimmer off the metal, a small sound, something like that, gave me up. And I've seen plenty of them, but it never ceases to amaze at how fast they can move sometimes. It screamed at me and jumped. And yanno? That flechette tranq only holds one round.

I though tonight wasn't going to be a good one.

* * *

Dan paced nervously near the van, fingers drumming a tattoo on the handheld radio, eyeing the shotgun leaning against the wheel well. What was it he had said it was? Jackhammer? He didn't remember. He was too nervous. How the hell had he gotten into this obviously bullshit and illegal endeavor? Shit, all he was looking for was a position in a virology lab; CDC didn't pay near enough.

He had been screwed, down to a months rent, when he got a letter from a company that did virus and bacteria research. It seemed he was easily accepted, then he thought it was his impressive resume, hell, he graduated MIT and Harvard Medical with two degrees from the latter, all on scholarship. But now in hindsight it did seem too easy to get accepted. He was told local field work and physical fitness would be a must, he met those requirements, but that was as far as the normality went. He'd shown up the next week at a big corporate building downtown, and escorted to a room where he waited for a hour before John, who he didn't know then, and at tall black man, a lawyer he assumed, made him sign a stack of papers, swearing him to secrecy, his research was property of the company, etc. He had hesitated, but seeing the six-figure salary at the last page for starters made him change his mind. As he signed it, John had sniffed at it.

"They're paying the kid more than me Bill." He frowned at Dan, as if it were his fault.

The black man, Bill evidently, replied complacently. "Now John, you know your situation, and plus for him it's hazard pay too fo-" he was cut off by sour chuckling.

"That's funny Bill. Reeeeally funny. Still, I apply for a raise, what, every decade, and they've only met it twice in the past few cen-" Bill raised a hand warningly.

"Be careful what you say." John had shut up, a little resentful, and Dan had sat there, feeling left out of the conversation and with the feeling that there was something big they weren't telling him.

Now, leaning against the van and a bit wet, it seemed there was a whole mountain of information he had been neglected. And then as soon as the papers were done, Bill had shook his hand before he had gotten dragged off by John for 'field work' for 'assessment'. Bill had waved goodbye before he was all but dragged around the corner, with a shout of "Word of advice! Do what he says!" Before they were out the door and into a black van.

Then he got some cockamamie story about zombies and vampires and the 'Agency' on the way before getting dumped out here while his 'mentor' went inside to, what Dan thought, go kill someone or get high.

Dan was starting to wonder whether to call the cops or not when he heard what sounded like a muffled shotgun blast, followed by an unearthly scream. He almost dropped the radio and scrambled for the gun before picking it up, looking unwieldy with the large gun in his slim arms.

_Shitshitshit, what was that? Oh God, he killed somebody, I knew it! This was a bad deal from the st-_his though was cut off as the 4th story windows blew out, and a writhing mass of fur and flesh tumbled out and hit the hood of the van, the sickening crunch of bone and muscle wetly hitting the metal accompanying the scream of crushed metal. Dan scrambled around the corner, shakily peering around the van to look-

-at what appeared to be a hideous, bony ape without hair wrestling with a gigantic wolf creature. The ape-thing was screaming in unearthly wails as the wolven creature had it's jaws latched on it's should, as it seemed to be fumbling around in the …_pants?!.._ that it was wearing, before withdrawing a vial and smashing it into the ape's open wound. It screamed louder for a moment, beating harder on the wolf before suddenly going completely limp. The wolven creature was growling low, and kept holding onto the beast before letting go, the ape thing sliding down the crumpled hood to the street.

Dan and the beast both heard the rattle of metal and looked at each other. He hadn't realized it, but he had been pointing the weapon at the both of them and still was, but now his hand were shaking and making it rattle. The beast did not move, but looked at him. It seemed to try and clear it's throat, before speaking in a rough, bestial tone, making him jump and almost drop the gun.

"**Kid, put the gun down before you remove a foot or the family inheritance. It's only gonna piss me off if you shoot me.**"

Dan started, before setting the gun on the hood like it burned him. "J…J-John?" He asked shakily, shell shocked.

* * *

The kid was scared to shit.

I didn't blame him, I would be doing the same in his shoes.

As it turned out, I missed, so out when the easy way, and it went down to brutal beat down in about half a second.

Changing isn't unpleasant, but it took me years to get used to. I still don't like the sensation.

But anyway the Zerker jumped me, and I had changed by the time we had rolled and hit the far wall, ruining yet another change of clothes. And they still wouldn't cover it under reimbursement for collateral, cheap Agency pricks.

Fortunately, I always carry a vial of sedative as backup for these brawls, because this wouldn't be the first. I growled when I felt it though; steel needle was gone, broken I guess.

I got back up, and crouched on all fours, facing him and his howling. He charged, and we hit at the same time. He must have been a weightlifter previously, because he hit hard, and we tumbled out the window.

I wasn't worried, I had fallen farther before and broken more bones, but I do have a wonderful healing factor. Hell you could turn me into paste with a steamroller and I'd bounce back in a day or three.

It still hurts though.

Especially when you end up on bottom.

I sank my teeth into him on the way down, and we crunched on a car. My van. Well fuck, now I was mad. He was screaming now, in anger and pain, but I didn't care, ramming the vial into his chest, breaking it. He screamed louder, before he dropped like a rock. Thank you super metabolic processes. I still bit down and held his shoulder for a minute, growling. Changing…it's different. You listen to your instincts a lot more; it's hard to ignore them. VERY difficult. I finally let go, and he sagged off the van to the ground.

Then I heard the rattling and looked up, still laying on my back. Dan. Crap. I had wanted to wait at least till Halloween to scare him with this, but the nerdy little pup had a bigger pair than I thought he did. Scared shitless and doubting as he was, he stood there with hands shaking from adrenaline, shotgun pointed at us.

It's a little bit harder than normal to talk like this, because of the lip movements and different voice box alignment. But I've had a few hundred years to do it.

"**Kid, put the gun down before you remove a foot or the family inheritance. It's only gonna piss me off if you shoot me.**"

It was true. I'd probably black out if he shot me with that till my brain matter grew back, but it wouldn't kill me, and judging by his inexperience with firearms, he'd be more likely to blow his leg off.

He jumped, but managed to put the gun down before I moved, or tried to. Immediately all the nerves in my back screamed, but oddly not in my legs. I pushed myself off the hood only to fall to the ground, legs not moving. I twisted my head around. The edge of the hood had almost neatly cut me in two around my lower back, some muscle and skin keeping me together. I whimpered a bit, feeling blood pool.

"**Dan, call the radio for a Hazard 4 Cleanup, because I'm gonna pass out in about 1 minute between blood loss hack and healing.**"

The kid edged over, white as a sheet. "Oh shitshitshitshitshit, you're gonna die, I'm screwed, I'm gonna go to jail, how the-"

"**SHUT UP"** I barked, and he jumped. "**I'm not gonna die, I've had loads worse. This will heal up in a day.**" I looked at my digigrade legs, broken in two places and bent at right angles. I was starting to swoon, and stars were popping in my eyes. My voice was becoming more growly and slurred. He bent over to look at me and the body, eye's ping-ponging back and forth between them. "**Don't…Don't touch the body, or…or my blood, you'll get infect-**" was the last thing I said before passing out.

* * *

End Chapter One in my Book Mythos I'm in the process of writing here. Hope you like, feedback welcome.

All characters and material copyright Andrew May 2008.


End file.
